Biology is GROSS

It happened. The lab I was dreading since this semester started. Ladies and gentleman, I had to dissect a fetal pig. When I saw the atlas and guide to the fetal pig's anatomy in my required textbook list, I was just hoping it was a joke. A sick joke, but a joke. And when the professor said we had to buy a dissection kit, I knew I would never see bacon the same way.

Yesterday was the day. And I was absolutely freaking the f*ck out. I whimpered as I walked into lab. The place smelled like cleaner and formaldehyde. Then bio-lab stockroom guy brings in the bin with all the piggies in their formaldehyde sealed bags. Two to a pack, how exciting! My stomach flipped (I thought it incredibly prudent to skip my between lecture and lab snack that day).

It was two people per pig, so at least I had a person with me. My poor lab partner had to deal with me squealing and borderline hyperventilating. But it was a team effort, and I eventually sucked it up once I got over touching the thing in the first place. I tried to console myself, rationalizing, I cook, I handle raw meat, I can do this. Umm, except that nothing I've ever cooked still had it's organs. And hair. Ok, why does a pig have hair? No seriously, don't tell me, I don't actually want to know.

But I calmed down enough, took a deep breath, gagged, tied the little guy (we had a boy pig) to the tray and cut. I even got to play with a scalpel. But there were moments I didn't do to good. I'll spare you the details of what set me off, because it's gross, but mainly because I don't want to remember it myself.

We played the what organ is this game (I think we cut off the gall bladder. Meh, like it has any use for it now) and get to clean up, but apparently we're not done poking/learning from the thing. The little oinker is in a bag with my name on it (no, seriously, we wrote our names on it), being kept for another week or 2. I have to do this again. OH. MY. GOD.

And just to add insult to injury, the dissection was only the first hour of the lab. We had to do a completely different lab the remaining 2 hours, one that did not involve cracking Piglet's ribs (too far?). In the midst of a place that smells of formaldehyde.

But hey, I didn't throw up like I had feared. And I didn't faint either, so thumbs up! And while I already knew this about myself, the lab made me 100%, completly, no if and or buts, sure, that I cannot be a doctor.

Boys are Easy

I used to be really good at getting boys. Some, all it took was a smile and they fell in my lap. Others I had to lay a little ground work and play hard to get. But eventually, 85% of them fell under my spell.

When you are a pretty 22 year old college student with a personality, getting a boyfriend is not super hard. And you would think a pretty 27 year old college student with a personality and no kids, it wouldn't be that hard to get another one. But umm, this really isn't the case now.

(I know, I know, bitching about it is not going to make anything happen. Also, it's annoying)

I was lamenting to a friend: sigh, I used to be really good at this boy thing. She responded, boys are easy. And then I figured out:

Boys are easy. It's when you grow up and want a man it starts getting harder.

That Guy

Default crush and I made out once, way before he was default crush. We were both just out of long relationships and just very sad. So I told him to kiss me goodnight. He obliged, and it escalated to a high school make out session, but nothing more. And then the next morning, he sent a text apologizing and said it would never happen again. And it didn't.

Until a few weeks ago that is. Because as we know, he became default crush and put out after I threw myself at him.

But now, he won't talk to me. And while that hurts, I'm more upset over loosing my friend. But what I'm confused about is when we kissed he apologized the next day. We sleep together and he ignores me completely. I didn't think he was that guy. I think that's what disappoints me the most. And that I was stupid enough to not realize it until after the fact.

Dating to Date

I was shameless about wanting to be engaged with my ex. When we first had the marriage talk I informed him that I wasn't going to date someone for two years only for sh*ts and giggles. I wanted forever, and I wanted it in wedding bands. He agreed and I got the ring. And then I had doubts, because I had everything I wanted, and yet I wasn't happy. And now I feel that I wasted my dating to date years on someone who I should have been doing that with.

But the thing is, I know I would not be this anxious about the whole thing if I had never been engaged. If I had realized sooner and left before the jewelry was involved. I have friends about 2 years older than me who are not married. And they're not nearly (or any) as freaked out about the whole single thing as I am. And it's not that I'm sizing up husband potential every date I go on (so, maybe twice a year?), but I do want a commitment. And if I ever start seeing someone seriously, I need to know where he stands on settling down, and if he wants it the same way I want.

So no, I don't date to date anymore. And when I did, I didn't do it that well either. Intellectually, I know it's ok to be alone. But I don't exactly feel like that right now. I'm that girl who wants a boyfriend. I wanted to shake the girl in high school (and college) who needed a boyfriend to make herself feel better. I wanted to tell her, honey, any guy worth his salt will come to you! You just have to worry about being awesome! And now, someone, shake me.

The Football

Guess who was undefeated and ranked number one in her league? That's right. My boys, aka, Spazzy's Bitches. (What? I love my team name)

I don't have the highest amount of points, but I have the most wins. I'm actually 3rd overall in terms of points. But even though I got my ass kicked this week (grrrr), I'm still at 5-1-0, and the next highest wins would be 4-2-0 (does anyone ever tie in football?). So I think I've got this lead for another week. Woo-HOO!

Of course, now that I'm all boastful, and my winning streak has been ruined, I'm sure I'm going to have a litany of sissy injuries, suspensions and arrests and I'll be scrambling to find back-ups for my back ups. And it's not like I've actually watched a game or anything though. I just check the rankings, know who's playing and post some smack talk.

Here's a snippet of my smack talk for your snarking pleasure:

• (when I was playing against Romo) "Hey Romo! how 'bout you break that pinky again?"
• "Bye weeks can blow me" (damn me for picking 3 Bears. Same team = same bye week = lot's 'o backups (or as I call them, the not good enoughs))
• (Chad Ocho Cinco didn't score super high so I benched him one week). "That's right Ocho, I benched you. When you score higher I'll consider putting you back on the big boys team."
• (then he had a great week I put him back in) "Fine chad, you can play, but let's put your money where your mouth is shall we?"
• (during a reeealy close game): I'm up by .43 points, my defense against her wide receiver. I want her guy out and I want BLOOD!
• Yo, injuries, you're on notice. I don't want "possible."
• Chad! you constantly get our performed by a guy on the bench. why do I continuously put my fait in you?
• Hey bitches, I really like my lead. Let's keep in there m'kay?
  

Admit it, you're snickering the thought of me being sassy/screechy/bitchy and demanding violence. I'm having a freaking blast so far. Football is fun!

Circle of a Crush

Default crush doesn't like me back. I can just tell.

Well, this isn't the first time a guy hasn't returned the feelings, and it probably won't be the last time either (cries!). And there have been times I haven't returned the feelings, so it's a two way street.

Yeah, it sucks, a guy I really liked doesn't like me back. But it's life. And maybe getting this guy out of my system will lead me to someplace or thing or one I wouldn't have seen before.

But this whole boy not liking me back thing, well, it just feels a little high school to me. And while I liked high school, I sure as hell don't want to go back.

My crush though, is a guy I went to high school with. Same class too. So irony, you have not been lost on me.

Natural Selection

Food allergies, in my opinion, are god's natural selection.

Ok, I know that's a little mean. It's mostly the people that are allergic to something very common place, such as eggs (you would be surprised how much stuff egg is in) or glutton that I think, hmm, maybe god was trying to weed out something there... Or: if I give you a bagel would you explode?

Sigh, I don't think having one or two allergies is reason to go out back and shoot you. Lord knows there are plenty of people out there that deserve that more then someone allergic to cheese. And most people with allergies are apologetic, they understand it can be a slight hassle and are nice about their special request. I have a friend allergic to nuts and chocolate, and while I would personally kill myself, she's cool about it and it's not a problem.

Once a server handed me a business sized card a patron had handed to him that night. It was a list of all the things they (the patron) were allergic to:

• shellfish
• glutton
• potatoes
  
• nuts (peanuts and tree)
• eggs
• milk
• citrus
• and small children (ok that I made that one up).
  

I honestly don't remember what was on the list, but it was pretty much everything in the menu. (no potatoes means no vodka drinks. And drinking would be the only thing to get me through a life of celery sticks). And they even had examples of things (example, pineapple in the citrus fruit)

On one hand I thought, at least they had the list all prepped and they tried to make things as painless as possible. On the other hand: why the hell go out to eat if you can't eat anything but celery?

Queen Bee

"You were popular in high school weren't you?" This is a question I get on occasion. Well, sorta. I was popular within my group of friends. But in the grand scheme of popularity hierarchy in high school, I was definitely not what you would consider "classically popular."

But like I said two seconds ago, I think I was (am) popular w/in my group of friends. We didn't really have a designated queen bee in it, but there's a core group of people that come to mind when you think of a certain group of people, and that's where I think I'm found (hey if I'm wrong, please don't tell me. Let me be deluded on this 'kay?)

It's better without a queen bee really. Mean girls are an ugly and vicious side of reality. And I think life's better when you don't have to be wary of someone stabbing you in the back for your top social spot.

But, not to say I didn't want to be queen bee in other groups. Or felt that I should be because I clearly knew what was going on and it would be so much easier of everyone listened to me. Like my ex's friends. He was the backbone/default leader of the band**

**by backbone I mean he was the one always "lighting a fire under a guys ass" for not taking it as serious as the rest of them. And if you weren't giving it 150% like he was then you didn't want it as bad as him and bla bla bla. Stuff that made the other guys gravitate and look up to him as the guy who gets things done (band wise, heaven forbid he get anything else done in life). But now that I think about it, was he truly the backbone or just the most foolish of them all?

So by default, I should have been queen bee of the girlfriends (and eventually I should have reigned over the groupies as well). After all, you can't be any sort of power couple if you aren't both in power. Duh.

Not that they knew that. Or knew what a queen bee was either. And what would my rank wielded me anyway? There were no perks. Backstage passes? (umm, first, what backstage?), Dictating their social lives that I didn't want to be a part of anyway? They actually wanted to be rock star wives, just as much as our guys wanted to actually be rock stars. And rock star wife seems glamorous, but really, it's just a grimy lonely sad place to be. And to be queen of the others would have been a tasteless glaze on that cake (not yummy icing) and a dollar store tiara.

And they were a nice enough bunch and polite when it counted, I was never going to be bff's with any of them. And it's just no fun to be queen bee of people who don't adore but fear you just a little more (it's a delicate balance really).

High Road Be Dammed

Good news is that default crush put out! Bad news, I told him I liked him and may have killed the friendship.

So now I can't stop thinking about him (even more than before), and he's probably trying to figure out how to tell me acting on our physical attraction was a bad idea w/out hurting me. At least I hope he's trying not to hurt me. If he's thinking of me at all that is.

But when you invite someone to your place for a drink, talk and laugh for hours, admit you've shamelessly checked each other out, the tension has been building for months, not to mention you're both hard up and a bottle and a half of wine has been consumed (3/4 of a bottle is in my bloodstream alone), well, what do you think is going to happen?

I'm pretty sure I instigated, but it's not like he resisted. At all. He may have pulled me closer for all I know. At one point he did say he wanted to take the high road and stopped. Which bummed me out, but I drunkenly understood. And then a few hours later, he's kissing me frantically and the high road was long forgotten.

So now I'm left with the questions: what's going on in his mind? Does he not remember? Does he think I don't remember? Is he happy or regretful that it happened? Is he wary of hurting me or does he want more? And am I making this more complicated then it needs to be?

I've assumed worst case scenario, that he thinks it was a huge mistake and we awkwardly avoid each other from now on. And I'm a big girl, if that's what he thinks, then I accept it and say his loss. But I was hoping for that cliche friendship turns into a passionate love affair maybe could last thing again. Would have brightened things a bit.

eight six seven five three oh nine

(names have been changed to protect the hot)

My name has been on a bathroom wall. Uh huh. And I'm actually kinda proud of that.

First, it's not as dirty as you're thinking. My freshman year toward the end spring quarter, we learned that in one of the guys' bathroom stalls, there was a list of the hottest girls of the entire freshman studio (130 people maybe?).

The whole thing started for German Nadja: blond hair, blue eyes, tall, slender, perfect ass, boobs that defied gravity, and a German accent. And a good designer. Because she wasn't perfect enough. But since none of the freshman guys actually had a chance with her, the list was expanded to include all the girls across the 6 studios. There were 9 out of about 75 girls on that list. And yours truly was number 9.

Four of the nine were from my studio, so I had some pretty stiff competition in my house. And since the whole thing started for German Nadja, she was obviously number 1. But we had the 2nd, 3rd, 8th and 9th spot on that list. We could have had the 10th spot too if there had been one, but the guy mainly "in charge" of the list (from my studio) was deliberately freezing out another girl because they had messed around earlier in the year. This may be the reason we had so many girls from our studio too...

So anyway, I'm proud in a way of sorts for being on the list, but I'm also a little: hey, why am I last? I was at least equal with number 8. And the only reason number 5 was on there was because she never wore a bra.

Stabby Class

I decided to withdraw from my stabby class this semester. Otherwise know as calculus.
Yes, the same calculus class that I took a pretest to get into, had to get an override, then every section I could work in my schedule was wait listed. I dropped it for a few reasons:

I'm not doing great in, and I don't deal with not doing great in a math class. Its not that I don't understand the material, because I do eventually, it just clicks and it's second nature almost. But it's taking longer for that click to come and grasp the material like I have for other math classes in the past. The lecture part I'm ok with, I sit in class for an hour, take notes and then try to do homework. I'm going to the Mathskeller and the grad students there are helpful.

But the recitation was killing me. I HATE 99% of my section. My ta has the accent, so it's hard to understand her. And she also has no control over the class. (if she is a spy/villain, she's a terrible one. Because shouldn't a villain strike the fear of god in you?) So everyone talks over her. They have their own conversations, blatantly ignore her, and openly dismiss her. There's absolutely no respect in that class. It's a bunch of 18 year olds who took calculus in high school so they clearly don't need to pay attention. Hey, I took calc in high school too. Ten years ago, but I took it. And got an A too. But so what? That doesn't matter, and it's still no reason for anyone to be so rude.

But by dropping this class, I can really focus more on my science classes. I know a W won't look great on my transcript, but I tested into calc, I can take it later and get a much better grade. And improve my other grades now. There's no guarantee that I won't get another stabby class next time, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. My mental sanity alone is worth it.

Because I walked out of that class Thursday and I said "I need a vodka drink. At 9:30 am." I could not cope with that class. I left every time thinking, "stabby isn't a 'legal' defense." And since we're all legal "adults" (snort) I would end up in jail for stabbing my pen through someone's hand (or trachea). And I'm too pretty for jail.

Wedding Bells

I went to my boss' wedding last week.

She got engaged a few weeks after I started my job and that means a few weeks after I called off my engagement. I considered it major personal progress that my first thought was not "f*ck you and your happiness, " and that I genuinely felt and said congratulations for her.

She was so happy, just the way I was when I first got engaged. And I knew that my unhappiness shouldn't ruin her happiness. Because only assholes do that. I don't know if she knew about my status then. At times I felt a little bad because I know she felt she couldn't really talk about her wedding in front of me at first. And as a bride, that's the only thing you want to talk about. But I never discouraged her, and if it came up I joined in the conversation. I just wasn't going to be asking for details at first.

I knew I was invited, but there were times I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle a wedding. But then I realized, hell, if I can be in my little sister's wedding as my engagement was crashing, I can certainly handle a co-workers wedding over a year later.

And I was 95% ok for the thing. But as I was sitting a the reception, I kept thinking about my wedding that didn't happen. And I kept wondering, will I get to wear my wedding dress? Will we get to register, and will I get a bridal shower? Will I get to dance with my dad? Was I for or against a cake topper? But mostly, will I get another chance at this?

Geriatric Me

Yesterday I completely blew my lab partner's mind. Not because of my metal prowess (or lack there of, I messed up the same test tube twice in 2 minutes) or razor sharp wit. Nope, none of that phased him.

But we were talking during lab and he asked how old I was. Since I wasn't in the mood to play the guess-how-old-I-am-game, I just told him: 27.

And that completely blew his mind. Seriously, he repeated "27!" in disbelief about a 1008 times.
I eventually asked him, "you ok? Did I just rock your world over there?"
"Yeah, kinda"

And then the next hour of lab was "what's it like to be 27?" question hour. I told him I was supposed to be a grown up but I had no intention of doing so any time soon. And obviously I was old enough to buy beer (not that I buy beer that often, but I also play "I order you pay" a lot). And no, I wouldn't. And I know that officially puts me in the uncool zone, but what the hell do I care? I'm old.

Sick boys

Seriously, I hate sick boys. This seems to be a common complaint between women. As much as we love (in my case, loved) our SO's, they all seem to turn into the biggest baby when sick. Cause you know, "when a man gets sick, the world stops" (Celia Rivenbark quote). Because no one else in the entire history of the world, has ever felt as sick as this pwoor wittle guy.

But do they ever take anything for it? Nope. Cause no one else has ever felt this bad, so clearly there is absolutely nothing strong enough for this sort of agony. They just whimper and sniffle and drive you nuts until you shove a pill down their throat, and while they chase bats in their dreams, you shove things up their nose as payback and because they can't breath from it anyway. (Lori Notaro reference). And yes, I'm sure you feel yucky honey, but take something and cork it (or I'll make you. Either way, you are taking a pill).

My first boyfriend in college admitted that when he was sick, he turned into the biggest baby and wanted to be taken care of. First, I snorted. And then second, said something along the lines of "don't come crying to me. I'll hand you a pill and tell you to stuff it." And a few months later when he did get a cold and subsequently tried to whine to me about it, I shot him a look and handed him some dayqil. And then told him to stuff it. Hey, I did warn him.

Now, I'm not a completely heartless, I did attempt to take care of my ex when he caught my nasty cold. (Hey you know what probably didn't help matters? Hanging out with all your smoker friends with wet hair in December. Just saying.) The same cold that knocked me out for a month. You know, the one I worked 60 hours on, apartment hunted, moved, and Christmas shopped with. But since it was my cold, and I loved him, I let him have the good pills right away instead of trying to pawn off the worthless NyQuil. Though when he finished the entire box in 2 days (he didn't exactly heed the "do not take more than 6 does in 24 hours" warning) and tossed the empty box in the trash, I made sure he had his id, handed him his wallet and keys and told him: no pussy footing around, you buy the real name brand behind the counter stuff. Don't even come home if you buy the generic.

A few months later when I moved out and cleaned the medicine cabinet out, I took every single pill box and bottle we owned with me. (hell, I bought most of it anwyay) I even the bullsh*t NyQuil.

Signs

So default crush and I flaked on each other. Like that's not a sign. He fell asleep after working out. I had a headache and didn't want to put on real pants. Looks like we're destined to be friends with sexual tension. This bodes well.

At least things only got complicated in my head and someone else can pounce me conflict free.
But I'm a little irked at myself for even pretending something could happen with default. I know the patterns of the friendship, and I know things won't happen with him.

Guess this shows how strong the lure a crush can be. But it also makes me feel like I'm still a 15 year old girl, desperate for someone to like her back.

Temptation

Do not lead me to temptation, I know the way myself. Or something like that. (yep, pretty sure I butchered some bible verse on that one)

So, I was thinking of starting the f*ck buddies thing up again. And by thinking, I mean totally going to. I was going to play last night, but had to bail because my homework took precedence. Boo, I was really looking forward to it. There's always the option of rescheduling though. My sensible side said: this may not be the best idea I've ever had, but it's by far not the worst. And the more indulgent side said: we all have needs, so why the hell not?

So I was looking forward to that, and wouldn't you know, default crush pops back in. Of course, just when I'm thinking, meh, get over it, and no biggie, he texts me. And I am weak because we make plans to hang out. Now I'm wondering if he wants to make out with me. We'll see if we even meet up number one. And then figure it out. The somewhat grown-up side wants to say: leave it alone, but the other part, the whinier and considerably much more vocal side, is saying, But. I. Wanna.

Um, this could get messy. Of course, I made my own rules, so I can just as easily break them. And there's the fact that I'm indulging my own imagination and making a mountain out of a mole hill. Default crush is my hang up, I'm not his. And f*ck buddy is something I want to keep in my back pocket too, just in case. We'll see how this goes.

Either way, I still have to shave my legs again.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

1. Dog kills stuff toy.
2. Dog eats carnage of fluff.
3. Fluff works it's way through her system and must comes out one end.
4. Fluff causes business to stick to dog's business end.
5. Dog freaks out, starts crying and momma is forced to assist.
6. Dog immediately fine when business is removed, prances away. Learns nothing at all.
7. Dog kills stuffed toy...

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Help

Some of you might know this, and others may be surprised. But I've been in counseling/short term therapy a few times.

Before anyone says/thinks "you could have talked to me," or "I would have helped if I had known," or "it couldn't have been that bad," STOP. Because that's not true. You honestly can't predict how your own grief will affect you, you can't know how you would react to another person's. Yes I had support all those times. Really good support at that. And it helped a little. But it wasn't enough.

But this is not going to be a tell-all confessional. I'm not telling you when, for how long, how many times, and what for (but yes, one was for the broken engagement). That's something I'm keeping in it's protective bubble. And I'm hardly the poster child for metal health as a self proclaimed spaz/crazy girl. It's just the god's honest truth. I needed help. I recognized that I did. And while this may sound counter intuitive to some, I felt stronger in getting it. For admitting I couldn't do "this" on my own. So I got help. And I'm better for it.